Dance of Ghosts by Kevin Brooks

and mobile. Call me any time.’
    ‘Yeah …’
    ‘And good luck with it,’ I said.
    ‘With what?’
    ‘Staying clean.’
    She looked at me for a moment, instinctively rubbing at the faded old needle tracks on her arm, and then, without another word, she turned round and left.
    I didn’t stay there much longer. Another quick drink and a cigarette while I mulled over what Genna had told me, and then I was on my way. The rain had stopped altogether now, and although the night was still cold, the air felt fresh and clear. As I headed back down the street, I could hear the heavy bass thump of music in the distance –
doomp-doomp, doomp-doomp, doomp-doomp, doomp-doomp
– and I guessed the nightclubs were beginning to come alive.
    I looked at my watch. It was 10.45.
    Later than I’d thought.
    And now that I was out in the fresh air, I was also beginning to realise that I was a little bit drunker than I’d thought. I started thinking about a taxi then. I knew it was the sensible thing to do, but it would mean leaving my car here overnight, and that would mean having to come back and get it in the morning. But if I
didn’t
get a taxi, if I drove home in this condition and got stopped by the police …
    That’s what I was thinking about, not really paying attention to anything else, when three things happened almost at once. The first thing was, I spotted the silver-grey Renault parked halfway down the street, and although there was undoubtedly a gap of about half a second or so between seeing it and
realising
that I’d seen it, I really don’t think thathalf-second delay made any difference. The second thing was, as I paused to think about the Renault, a voice called out to me from the shadows of an alley on my left.
    ‘Got a light, mate?’
    And the third thing was, as I turned instinctively to the sound of the voice, a heavily-ringed fist hammered into the side of my head.
    After that, it’s all a bit vague. I half-remember staggering back against a brick wall, almost knocked out by the blow, and then I think someone hit me again, this time low in the belly, and as I doubled over in pain, someone else grabbed me by the arm and kind of half-swung, half-dragged me into the alley, and then I think I must have lost my balance and fallen over – or maybe they hit me again – because the next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground getting the shit kicked out of me.
    It was too dark, and it happened too quickly, for me to get a look at them, and I didn’t get to hear their voices either, because they never said a word. They just piled into me – kicking, punching, stomping … all in furious silence, and all I could do was lie there and take it. After a while my body didn’t seem to belong to me any more. It was just a thing, a lump of meat, and whatever was happening to it was happening a long way away.
    I don’t know how long the beating lasted – probably no more than thirty seconds or so – and I have no recollection whatsoever of the kick to the head that finally knocked me out … all I know is that some time later I woke up in the alley, slumped against the wall, covered in blood and hurting like hell.
    I was cold and wet.
    It was raining again.
    I checked all my pockets, but nothing was missing. Wallet, phone, keys, money … it was all still there. As I took a deep breath, sucking down the ice-cold air, I felt something bubbling in the back of my throat.
    I coughed, bringing up blood.
    It hurt.
    I spat it out.
    ‘Fuck,’ I said.
    Then I leaned over and threw up.

7
    I drove home via the back roads, keeping to a steady 40 mph all the way, and somehow I managed to get back without crashing the car or getting stopped by the police. Lights were showing in the windows of Bridget’s flat, and her boyfriend’s car was parked outside the house. And when I went inside, I could hear the sound of soft music playing upstairs.
    I let myself into my flat, went into the front room, and poured myself a glass of